Mom reaches across the table and takes my hand. “For someone that powerful to have her magic ripped away, yes, I imagine it might be worse than dying, but that doesn’t mean an unmagical life isn’t worth living.”
“What happened to Tumultua?” I ask, needing to change the subject as the ache in my chest burrows deeper.
“The battle mages were afraid of what would happen if they tried to drain her power, if they tried to hurt her at all. So they imprisoned her with the help of a tietäjä.”
“Mervi the Magnificent.” I finally piece it together. “Did she let the battle mages use the Sampo?”
“They had to use more than that to contain Tumultua, and the Sampo was the only object to survive the spell. The others were destroyed by the very magic they were used to channel.”
“The Sampo must be very powerful then.”
“Indeed,” Mom says. “Which is why we’ve been keeping it safe ever since. Mervi’s your grandmother, going back sixteen generations.”
That’s a whole lot of greats. Still, I feel a tingle of pride knowing I’m related to the mage who defeated Tumultua. Mervi the Magnificent versus Tumultua the Terrible! Now there’s something I’d love to write about.
The grandchild of one of the greatest mages to have ever lived! And not a drop of magic, the little voice says, leaving my momentary pride in tatters.
“Why would a tietäjä want to free Tumultua now?” I ask, hoping the voice’ll shut up if I speak over it.
Mom releases my hand and traces protection sigils on the kitchen table with her index finger. “Because some members of the UCMW believe magic wielders should be free to practice as they see fit without having to follow the rules set by the UCMW—rules put in place to protect magic wielders from themselves and unscrupulous others. Not everyone appreciates our safety-first approach, you see. Some tietäjät have forgotten what we stand for.”
“Like Morgan’s mom, right? She’s in opposition to you.”
Mom blinks at me. “You really do know far more than I’ve given you credit for.”
I bite my tongue so hard it hurts to keep from saying, “I’ve been trying to tell you! But you never listen!”
“Do you know who’s doing this?” Better to keep digging for answers.
“We have our suspicions, but we don’t know for sure yet.” Mom pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes for a moment, then shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter, as long as we find Natalie and the others.” But by the pained look on her face, clearly it matters very much.
Suddenly, I realize why Mom looks so sad. The person responsible might not be a stranger, but someone Mom knows, maybe even someone she counts as a friend—just like the battle mages trusted Tumultua.